


Ocean of Noise

by Smutnug



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hate Sex, Multi, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 04:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10936734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smutnug/pseuds/Smutnug
Summary: Yes I went there, Menris/Fenrill, followed by a Hawke sandwich, sorry not sorry.Starts act 3, continues post-epilogue.





	1. Chapter 1

_Left in the morning_

_While you were fast asleep_

_To an ocean of violence_

_A world of empty streets_

_-_ Arcade Fire,  _Ocean of Noise_

* * *

 

There it was again, three loud bangs. A knock. Merrill sat up, blinking slowly awake. What time was it? It had already been late at night when she finally crawled beneath the thin blanket, but it was still dark. Not yet morning, then.

The knock came again, slower, louder. “Just a moment!” she called.

She hastily threw on a tunic and leggings, moved her fingers to set a fire roaring in the grate, candles flickering to life around the tiny hovel. Then, gingerly, she opened the door.

“Fenris?” Something must be terribly wrong. “Is it Hawke? What’s happened?” He wouldn’t come here alone unless it was an emergency. She hadn’t seen him since they had killed Danarius and let his sister go free, had assumed he had retired to his Hightown mansion to brood for a while. But here he was, brooding in her doorway. He didn’t look panicked, at least, and some of her own panic died down, replaced by unease.

She stood aside to let him in and he leaned heavily against the wall as she pushed the door closed behind him. He was drunk, she realised.

He glowered at her. “Merrill.” There was something strange in his posture. Hunched. He shifted his weight and winced, a hand moving to his side.

“You’re hurt,” she realised. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Then why are you here?”

He looked away and she sighed, moved to pull a chair away from the table. “Sit.”

Slowly, grudgingly, he sat.

“Now.” She crossed her arms. “Are you going to show me, or are you just here because you enjoy my company so much?”

He exhaled sharply, a sound that might have been laughter or pain. His gauntleted fingers fumbled with his belt.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable in all that spiky armour?”

“Yes.”

She watched him a moment longer, then knelt before him. “Here, let me.” He sat stiff and resentful as she loosened his belt and lifted the bottom of his tunic. An angry burn crossed his abdomen, starting below his navel and running around his hip.  
“Fenris! When did this happen?” He turned his head away, lips pressed together tightly. “No! You've been walking around like this since the Hanged Man?” She looked up at him, concerned. “Why didn't you go to Anders?”

His eyes on hers were all the answer she needed. “Oh, Fenris.” The relationship between the ex-slave and the apostate had always been difficult, but since Hawke…

She rested her hand on his knee. “You and Hawke were close, once.” It wasn't a question.

Another humourless laugh. “Only once.”

“What happened?”

His look was scornful. “Would you like me to draw you a diagram?” At her silence, he relented. “I left. I had to. If I had known…”

“I'm so sorry, Fenris.”

He bristled. “Don't pretend you don't feel the same. I've seen the way you look at her.”

It was true. It didn't help that Hawke flirted as easily as she breathed, seemingly unaware of the chaos of emotions she left in her wake.

She took a deep breath. “It doesn't matter. She's with Anders now. And that burn needs seeing to.” She stood. “Take that armour off.”

She turned away from him, set a pot of water to boil over the fire then rummaged around in her store of herbs. When she finally turned around he was bared to the waist.

She stood paralysed, staring at the lyrium markings adorning his arms, his shoulders, his chest. They traced all over his skin, glowing with a soft blue light.

He glared back at her. “Have you seen enough?”

“I'm so sorry.” Again. She already said that. He stood in a fluid movement, advanced on her. She backed away until she felt the table behind her and sat, staring up at him. _“_ Please don't tear my heart out,” she said, idiotically. “I was only trying to help.”

He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face upwards, and to her shock he kissed her, his lips hungry on hers, his tongue invading her mouth. Even more to her surprise she responded, parting her lips, feeling the stirring of unwelcome desire. She reached to him, touching his chest, and he flinched and drew back.

“I'm sorry.” Would she ever stop apologising? “Does it hurt?” He hesitated, then nodded. She ran a hand over his markings. “I'm not much of a healer, but I can help…” A glow built under her hand.

He recoiled. “Don't touch me, witch.” And with a slam of the door he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

No answer. She shouldn't be surprised. Not surprised, either, that the door gave way with a small push. Who needs locks after all, when you can tear a person's heart out with your bare hand?

The foyer was eerily quiet. It usually was, she realised, but normally she wouldn't be here alone, would have Hawke with her at the very least. She looked around her in disgust. Her home might be a damp, rat-infested hovel, but at least she did what she could to keep it tidy. There was no broken glass, no years-old corpses.

She should have brought someone with her, should have come earlier in the day. She should definitely have let Hawke know about Fenris’s injury. But she had been ashamed, conflicted about what had taken place between them. She wasn't sure how to explain it to anyone without embarrassing him or herself.

So here she was at night in Hightown, carrying his armour in a bag, hoping her heart would remain in her chest.

She found him shivering beneath a blanket on the floor, his skin warm with fever. Easing the blanket down she found the burn mark livid and swollen, the skin around it hot and red.

“Hawke?”

“It's just me, Fenris.” She crossed the room to set a fire, rummaging in her bag for pouches of herbs, elfroot and a small quantity of rare prophet’s laurel. She turned to see him watching her silently, his eyes bright with fever.

“I'm making a poultice. Where can I find water?” She followed the movement of his eyes to a pitcher on a corner table. “Your wound is infected. I should fetch Anders.”

“No.” There was a note of raw desperation in his voice, and she relented.

“We'll see. Now, drink this.” He looked at the cup with suspicion. “It's just water, Fenris. Sit up.”

With an effort he raised himself onto his elbows and she held the cup to his lips, watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed. Satisfied, she set the cup down next to him and busied herself warming more water in a small pot. “I'm getting some things from the kitchens. Don't go anywhere.” When she looked over he was lying back down, asleep again.

 

She returned from the markets some time later, the kitchen having been less use than she had hoped. Did he live entirely on wine? Fenris still lay with his eyes closed, but the cup next to him was empty. She refilled it before returning to her task.

“Still here?”

“You wouldn't let me get Anders, remember?” She knelt next to him, holding a cup of warm broth. “Drink this.”

He grimaced and turned his face away.

“Drink it, Fenris. Or I'll bring Hawke to make you drink it.”

Grudgingly he half sat up against the wall, and this time he held the cup himself, his hands weak and shaky. She waited until he had drained the cup before nodding and returning to her poultice. She wrapped the warm mass in bandages and carried it to where he lay. He eyed it with suspicion.

“No magic. Just herbs.” She laid it gently against his skin and he winced. “But if it doesn't work you will need healing. I'm not going to explain to Hawke why I let you die for the sake of your pride.” He glowered at her but remained silent as she smoothed the poultice over the burn. “Now, I need to bandage this in place. Let me - “ She reached out and his hand moved with surprising speed to grab the blanket against him. “Oh. You're…”

“Naked. Yes.”

“Oh. I see. Well, you just hold that there then.” Flustered, she avoided his eyes while she unfurled a roll of bandage. “At least you’re not so spiky this way.” She was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the heat of his skin, the tiny movements of his muscles, his eyes on her face as he shifted to allow her to wrap the bandage around his back. Finally she secured the dressing and she could move back, meet his eyes. Better to look at his face than the obvious tent in the blanket.

“There. Now lie down.” He was sweating, out of breath from the small exertion. “That’s all I can do for now. I’ve left you food. I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.” But she lingered, his green eyes holding her. Her hand moved towards him, and silently he took her wrist and guided her, his eyes closing when her hand came to rest on the blanket over his cock.

“Are...are you sure this is a good idea?” She rubbed the heel of her hand against him, somehow unable to move away.

He smiled without humour. “No.” His hand was still on her wrist, his fingers gently clutching as she rubbed the soft fabric against his erection. She pulled away to slide her hand beneath the blanket, down over the hot skin of his abdomen to wrap her fingers around his shaft. His markings flared slightly, glowing a soft blue.

“Am I hurting you?”

“Yes. Don't stop.” His head dropped back as she moved her hand up and down, felt the soft slide of his skin beneath her fingers. “Please. I need you.”

“You don't even like me.”

“It doesn't matter.” Somehow his candour didn't hurt like it should. She was drawn to him, the soft rise and fall of his chest, his fevered skin.

“You're delirious.”

“I am not.” He looked her in the eyes, a stark hunger on his face. “Please.”

As if a trance she stood, slipped her leggings down over her ankles before drawing the blanket back from his body and lowering herself gently on top of him. He made a soft sound of surprise at the ease with which he slid inside her, before she closed warm around him and he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Tell me if I'm hurting you.”

“No.”

Not,  _No, you're not hurting me,_ she realised, but  _No, I won't tell you._

He was too weak to move much, but his hands clutched feebly at her bare legs as she moved her hips back and forth as gently as possible, resting her weight on her knees. She leaned forward, planting her hands on the floor next to his chest, her head hanging down to avoid looking in his face. His fingers grasped harder at her thighs. He groaned again. “Hawke.”

Merrill closed her eyes, pictured black hair falling across pale blue eyes, the mocking curve of her smile. “I'm here, lethallin.”

She glanced up at him, saw his head tilted back, mouth hanging slightly open, his lyrium markings pulsing slightly in time with his shallow breaths. She rolled her hips against him and felt a warm shudder run through her body before he arched and cried out softly, spilling inside her, his fingers clawing gently at her skin.

When it was done she moved to leave, surprised by his hand still grasping her leg.

“Stay with me?”

“I really should be going.”

He looked up at her, no hint of mockery in his face. “Please. Merrill.”

She gathered the blanket and lay down silently next to him, his skin like a furnace against her.

She woke once in the night to find him thrashing, crying out. When she reached out to him he woke in anger, his marks flaring blue, and she was poised to run. But he was weak still and he collapsed, breathing raggedly, and soon he was asleep again.

When the morning light stole in she felt his skin had cooled, his breathing had become regular. The danger had passed, for now. She slipped free of the blankets and dressed, quietly lighting the fire before slipping out into the empty streets.


	3. Chapter 3

“Fenris?”

There was no answer, but she saw the glow of firelight behind his door.

Fenris was bare-chested but had found a pair of drawstring pants to cover his lower half. He reclined in an armchair, drinking wine straight from the bottle. He spared Merrill little more than a glance as she closed the door behind her.

“You came back, then.”

She placed her packages on the low table. “Somebody has to check on your dressing. And make sure you eat.”

He waved the bottle at her. “Drink?”

“No, thank you. You shouldn't either.”

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming dangerously. “You're not going to make me drink alone?”

“You say that like it's not a hobby of yours.” She knelt to work at his bandage and found the bottle in her way.

“Drink.”

“Fine.” She took the bottle from him and swigged, pleasantly surprised by the smooth taste. This wasn't what they called wine in the Hanged Man.

Satisfied, he sat back and let her change his dressing, the used poultice discarded on the fire. After a while Merrill was startled to feel his hand brush her face, his fingers idly toying with her hair. “Don't do that.” She didn't look up from her bandaging.

He took his hand away. “Why?”

“Because I asked you not to.”

“Very well.” He took another drink, offered her the bottle.

“Wait a moment.” She secured the bandage and got to her feet before taking another swig.

He watched her, amused. “Is that the only reason you came?”

She took another drink. “Yes.”

“So you'll be going now.”

“Yes, I will.” But she didn't leave.

He stood, slowly, took the bottle from her hand and placed it on the table. She stood frozen as he removed her cowl, brushed his lips against her exposed neck.

“Fenris, I don't know about this. You should rest. You don't like me, remember?” She babbled, distracting herself from his hands untying her belt, lifting her tunic over her head. “I'm not her.”

He stiffened. “Do you think I don't know that?”

“I know you do. But...what do you want? What are we doing?” She rested her hands against his bare chest, causing a sharp intake of breath. He glared at her.

“Does it need an explanation? Can we not just...forget?”

The raw hurt of his sister's betrayal, the old wounds reopened at seeing his former master, all were laid bare in his eyes. And their shared hurt, the thought of Hawke in Anders’ arms, her sighs and breathless whispers for him and him alone.

She stood, passive, let his hands roam over her body, let him strip away the last of her clothing and grab hungrily at her, his mouth claiming hers, his own meagre garment shed and discarded.

He drew her to the floor before the fireplace, knelt over her, his cock rigid, his eyes dark with desire and a burning anger. He looked over her and she sensed him comparing her to another. Body, slighter. Breasts, smaller. Hair similar, but eyes larger, the wrong colour.

"Turn around."

She raised herself onto her elbows then turned, resting on her hands and knees, waiting. He ran his hands down her sides, lingered at her hips before pushing inside her. His fingers dug into her soft flesh as he drew out and thrust hard back in, fucking her with a tightly controlled rage. She was silent as his skin slapped against hers, and he finally came inside her with a low cry.

He thrust twice more before he slipped from her, his hands still on her hips, stroking her skin. She was unsatisfied, restless, and he sensed it.

“You need more.”

“I'm fine. Don't worry.” She straightened, turned to lie on her back. He caressed her hip, her leg, fingers lingering on the slick inside of her thigh.

“I would not leave you wanting.”

Her hands stayed clenched by her sides.

Fenris dipped his head, nuzzled between her legs. He licked at her thighs, cleaned the mess he had left before curling his tongue against her warm wet entrance, insistent hands pushing her legs further apart.

His face was hairless, smooth. She could almost imagine it was another mouth buried in her sex, another pair of hands gripping her thighs, the one she wanted but could never have. She stared at the ceiling, the spreading cracks, her fingers drumming on the floor, focused on keeping her body under control as she trembled beneath him.

He stopped and looked up at her, growled, “Stop thinking.”

She squeezed her eyes closed. “I can't.”

“We'll see.” He redoubled his efforts, tongue tracing a slow path around her entrance and upwards, fingers sliding inside her cunt and curling against her, pushing wetly in and out. She felt herself losing control, an ocean of noise around her, body shaking against her will, cries wrenched from her throat. She shuddered, her back arching, his tongue flicking and coiling against her as she gasped and panted.

It wasn't Hawke's name she cried out as she came, but “Fenris!” his hands holding her down, tongue curled inside her, then running gently upwards, tracing slow circles around her clit, her legs twitching and shivering.

He sat up and wiped his face before searching for the wine bottle, took another long swig. His eyes were on the fire as she retrieved her clothes and dressed with fingers shaking.

"You should stay. It's not safe out there at night." It was a statement of fact, not an invitation.

"I'm not helpless."

"Against Templars, you are."

She bristled. "Isn't that what you want for me? To be caught and dragged off into the Circle?"

"Once, maybe. No longer."

He didn't look up as she left, feet silent on the stairs, the distant slam of the door heralding her exit.


	4. Chapter 4

The knock on the door was gentler, hesitant. She waited, cross-legged on the floor, unsure if she had imagined the sound until he knocked a second time.

“Here. Take this.” He glared around the drab hovel before stalking over to sit at the table, hands gripping his knees.

“It's a bottle. Of wine.” She examined it as if it might be dangerous.

His glare came to rest on her. “A housewarming gift.”

“I've been living here for six years.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “I wanted to say thank you. And sorry.”

She held the bottle between them like a shield. “Sorry for what?”

“For…” He looked away, ashamed. “For using you.”

“Oh.” She looked at him, wide eyed. “Should I say sorry too, then?”

“No.” His anger returned as quickly as it had gone. “This is not a joke.”

“I'm not laughing.”

He stood and crossed the room in a single fluid movement, hands pressed against the wall on either side of her. She clutched the bottle to her chest, looked up at him nervously. Finally his gaze softened. He rested the palm of his hand against her cheek.

“We could make it work, you and I.” His voice was low and gentle, an entreaty. “Couldn't we?”

She laid her hand on his. “No, Fenris, I don't think we could.”

“Why not? We can't have her, but we could at least find some comfort in each other.”

“That's not how it would be.” She smiled sadly. “Before long I'd be annoying, and you'd be cruel, and we'd make each other miserable.”

His expression darkened and he backed away. “Is that all you think me capable of? Cruelty?”

“I don't think that.” She put the bottle down and leaned back against the table. “But I would make you cruel. Sooner or later, you would think me naive or stupid or dangerous. You'd call me a witch, or a monster. And I would think you mean-spirited and pigheaded. Perhaps we'd both be right, but we'd still hurt each other. I think we deserve better than that, don't you?”

He considered this. “I'm not sure I do, but I see your point.”

The moment stretched out. Then the ghost of a smile as he brushed her lip with his thumb. “The last time, then?”

She returned the smile. "The last time."

She took him by the hand and led him into the shabby bedroom.

This time he was gentle as he laid her down on the bed, soft fingers trailing down her hip, his lips warm against her neck. When he reached his peak it was her name that fell from his lips, a whisper as she tangled her fingers in his white hair.

And a last, soft kiss before he left, a shared understanding that they would never speak of this again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-epilogue

_An ocean of noise_

_I first heard your voice_

_Ringing like a bell_

_as if I had a choice_

 

 _-_ Arcade Fire, _Ocean of Noise_

 

* * *

 

They stood huddled in the light drizzle, water beading in their eyelashes and making them blink. Hawke couldn't remember the last time she'd been truly warm. The silence was punctuated by the unsteady drip, drip of water on canvas, the creak of leather and the clink of metal.

“Are you sure you'll be alright, Hawke?” Aveline stood with an oiled leather satchel slung over her back, the rain darkening her hair to auburn.

A sharp laugh. “Who needs friends, anyway?” Anders was hunched nearby, a great black crow with fluttering feathers.

Aveline gave no indication that she heard him. “I can stay longer if you need me to.”

“She won't be alone.” Fenris stood at her back, a dark and solid presence. “We can take care of her.”

Hawke cleared her throat. “I can take care of myself.” She forced a smile. “You should go. Donnic needs you. Kirkwall needs you.”

Varric hoisted Bianca onto his back. “I'll go with her as far as the outskirts. See what rumours I can pick up.”

“Won't they be watching for you?” Merrill shivered, her face thin and pale beneath the vallaslin.

“Don't worry about me, Daisy. I'll cover up my chest hair. Maybe even grow a beard. They'll never know me.”

“You've suffered enough, Varric. I can't let you grow a beard for my sake.”

There was a momentary silence, then Varric laughed uproariously, clapping Hawke on the shoulder. “She jokes! Welcome back, Hawke!” He grew serious again. “We'll get the Guard-Captain home safely, then I'll come right back. Might even bring some real food with me.”

“That's assuming I am still the Guard-Captain.” Aveline gave a wry smile. “I'll see you all again soon.”

Hawke watched them go, hoping it was true.

They packed up and began the journey back. Their more permanent camp was a cavern in the foothills, further west of Kirkwall. There had been no Templar activity in the area for weeks now, but they were still silent as they walked, wary of movement in the forest, turning at every snapped twig or rustled branch.

Merrill recognised their path first, picking up pace as the rocks became familiar, the trees speaking to her of home. They trudged uphill, small stones sliding under their feet. Finally a fallen tree, its massive roots upturned and overgrown with vines. Behind it a dank tunnel wound into the side of the mountain, ending in a shallow cave, their scant belongings littering the stone floor. A small crack in the ceiling let light in, and a steady trickle of water when it rained, which was most of the time.

Divested of their packs, Fenris set to work lighting a fire and Merrill left to fetch water. Hawke sat, chilled and exhausted.

“Home sweet home,” Anders muttered. She hunched further into her cloak and he smiled at her without humour. “You can't ignore me forever, you know.”

She closed her eyes, tried to get some warmth from the fire.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Fenris left to hunt for game and Hawke opened her eyes to find Anders still watching her. “I could warm you.” A lift of his eyebrows, that cheeky smile.

“No you couldn't.” She bowed her head to let the fire's heat dry her damp hair. “Leave me alone.”

 

Merrill knelt, her fingers submerged in the chill stream as she filled a second waterskin. She heard his light footsteps behind her.

“She's not well. She shouldn't be out here.”

His hand rested on the back of her neck. “What about you? You look like a ghost.”

She stoppered the waterskin and stood, brushing leaf litter from her knees. “I'm used to living in the forest. I'll be fine.”

Fenris reached for her, his bare fingers warming her cheek. “You're freezing. And too thin. You need to eat more.”

She laid her hand over his. “I'm an elf, Fenris. We're thin.”

She backed into a wide tree, the waterskin dropped and forgotten as his mouth closed over hers, his slim hips pressing her up against the mossy bark. Breathlessly she rose into his embrace and threaded her fingers in his hair. He lifted her leg, grinding into her.

“We can't keep doing this.” She broke away from his kiss, gasping.

“Yes we can.” Warm lips ran up her neck. “Everything's gone mad. We may as well, too.”

She turned her head to kiss him again, a hungry slide of lips against his, before untangling herself. “We should get back to Hawke.”

Fenris bent to pick up the waterskin, holding it when she would take it from him.

“Later.” His eyes were dark in the dim light, his hand still warm under hers.

She nodded. “Later.” He let go.

 

Dinner was a stew of rabbit and herbs, eaten in silence. They built up the fire before retiring to their bedrolls.

Hawke lay awake closest to the fire. The trickle of rain and the hiss and crackle of the burning wood was almost loud enough to hide other sounds, muffled sighs and whispers, breaths held and released, wet lips on skin.

“Do they think we don't know what they're doing?” Anders whispered, amused. “We could show them how it's done.”

She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

 

The next day she sat on the fallen tree, huddled in a blanket, while Merrill and Fenris slept in their separate bedrolls. The dawn light washed the forest in grey, a pale mist rising between the trees.

“Talk to me, love.” Anders reached for her, hesitating a hair's breadth from her shoulder.

“I can't.” She hunched her shoulders, a shiver running through her body.

His voice was tender. “Why not?”

She forced herself to look at him. Dark brows under blond hair, his strong nose, his stubbled jaw, his sad brown eyes. “Because you're not here.”

“Of course I'm here. I wouldn't leave you.”

“You're dead,” she said dully.

He smiled. “Whose fault is that?”

“Yours,” she replied. “You told me to.”

“And since when does the mighty Champion of Kirkwall do what she's told?”

She had no answer for him.

“Hawke?” Merrill emerged on silent feet. “Who are you talking to?”

“Nobody.” It was the truth.

The elf perched next to her, shivering. She opened the blanket and wrapped it around Merrill, drawing her close. Gradually they warmed each other, their dark heads pressed close together, Merrill resting against her shoulder.

“I hear you, you know.”

Merrill shifted beside her. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You and Fenris.”

Merrill turned to look up at her, green eyes wide and aghast. “I'm so sorry, Hawke.” She placed trembling fingers on the other woman's face. “We didn't mean to...disturb you.”

She was so cold, so lonely, so empty. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she bent her face to Merrill's, parting the soft pink lips with her own, feeling the flicker of a tongue against hers. Merrill's hand moved from her face to the nape of her neck, tangling in her hair, a soft thumb tracing her ear. Their kiss deepened.

At last she broke away, blushing furiously. “I'm so sorry, Hawke,” she repeated. “I should go.” She slipped out of the blanket and fled, vanishing into the trees.

Hawke pulled the blanket tight around her, even colder than she had been before.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, it got a little weird here

_No way of knowing_

_what any man will do_

_An ocean of violence_

_between me and you_

 

 _-_ Arcade Fire, _Ocean of Noise_

 

* * *

 

“She kissed you.”

“That's what I said, Fenris.”

“Why?” He paced, agitated.

“Because she's sad, Fenris. Because she's lonely. Because the man she loved is dead and she has to listen to her friends…”

“Fucking?”

“Yes. That.” Merrill wrung her hands. “What should we do?”

“Nothing. We keep her safe.” He crouched before her. “We feed her, keep her warm, watch for Templars or anybody else who wants to harm her. And if they try, I will tear their hearts out.”

She buried her head in her hands. “And what do _we_ do?”

He was silent.

“We should go back. She shouldn't be alone.” Merrill stood. “She's been talking to herself.”

He pulled her to him. “We'll look after her. She's safe with us.”

 

Anders. He was there, but not there. His lips brushed her neck, his fingers ran through her hair, briefly, and were gone.

“Why?” he whispered.

“You killed people.”

“I had to.”

“You didn't. It needed time. Things would change.”

“Mages were suffering.”

“Mages suffered anyway, Anders. They became abominations, and they were cut down. Or they didn't, and they were cut down. You didn't make things better.”

“There was injustice. It needed to be fixed.”

“What you did was _not justice!”_ she screamed, her voice echoing in the empty cavern.

 

“Hawke.” Merrill pushed a bowl of stew into her hands and she started as if she had been asleep, although her blue eyes were open. “You need to eat.”

“So do you.” Hawke traced a finger along the lines of her vallaslin. “I promised your keeper I would take care of you.”

Tears pricked at Merrill's eyes  “My keeper is dead, da’len.”

“Everyone's dead, Merrill. Carver, Bethany, Mother. Anders, you, me. All of us.” Hawke’s hand dropped to her side.

“Eat, lethallan. We're not dead yet.” She pressed the spoon into her hand, relieved when Hawke raised a shaky spoonful to her mouth, chewed and swallowed. She sat until the bowl was finished.

“You'll be alright, da’len. We've got you.”

 

They exchanged glances, when they thought she couldn't see. Hunger, burning, between the two of them. They had both hungered for her, not so long ago. Funny how things changed.

Anders mocked her.

“They don't need you now. Looks like you chose the wrong lover.”

She threw it back in his face. “I did. I chose a liar. A murderer.”

“I loved you.”

“And I loved you. You damned us all.”

For once he was silent.

 

They brought down a deer, and risked a larger fire outside to roast it. Hawke’s eyes were flat but she ate hungrily, glancing around as if expecting her food would be snatched away. It brought some small colour back into her cheeks but she still shivered, every now and then talking to someone who was not present.

They were restless for days, unwilling to leave her alone long enough to satisfy their urges but aware that their secret was secret no longer, the illusion of privacy shattered. Eventually, frustrated and certain Hawke was asleep, Merrill let him creep to her bedroll.

Fenris touched her like a man starved, peeling away her tunic and lavishing attention on her exposed breasts. She writhed under him, eyes falling shut, and she opened them to find Hawke lying with pale blue eyes open, fixed on hers.

She froze, and Fenris stilled.

“Hawke?”

“Don't mind me.” She didn't look away.

He looked to Merrill, her eyes silently begging for release. Deliberately, slowly, he lowered his mouth to her breast, teasing at her until she gasped, arching into his touch. Blue eyes watched them as his fingers slipped beneath the blankets, bringing her to breathless completion even as she turned her head to avoid Hawke's unsettling gaze.

 

They were silent the next day, Fenris tense and brooding, Merrill’s face burning with humiliation. But that night he came to her again, stripping their armour away and taking her gently, his whispered words reassuring her as her ears burned, shame and desire warring within her.

 

“Are you just going to watch?” Anders asked, his voice mocking.

“No.” Hawke's fingers slid between her legs, hot tears spilling on the hard pillow under her cheek.

 

It was strange how quickly the new dynamic came to be normal. It was never spoken of in the day, but at night they came to accept that Merrill and Fenris would share a blanket, Hawke’s ragged breath would be drowned out by the sounds of their lovemaking.

By day they hunted, cooked, ate, survived. By night they just survived.

 

“What are you doing?” Anders seemed almost concerned.

“What I need to,” she answered.

“This is what you need? This...depravity?”

“You don't get to judge me,” she snapped. “You gave up that right.”

“You're a mage,” he said. “You should understand what I tried to do.”

“I don't. I never will. You sentenced us all to death.”

“We had to fight.”

“I was fighting. For six years. Fighting to keep that damned city from going to pieces. You undid it all in seconds.”

“I had no choice.”

“You had a choice! Don't pretend those deaths aren't on your conscience.”

“If they're on my conscience, why do you feel guilty?”

“Fuck you, Anders. Leave me alone.”

She was alone. She curled on her side, sobbing.

“Hawke?” Merrill touched her face gently. Fenris hovered in the background, a brace of rabbits over his shoulder.

“I killed him, Merrill. I loved him, and I said I'd protect him, and I killed him.” Misery clenched her throat.

“He left you no choice.” Fenris put down his burden and crouched at her side. “He knew you would. We killed people for less.”

“Does that make it right?” She clutched Merrill's hand desperately. “I didn't even look him in the face. I stabbed him in the back and left his body on the ground.” She had moved past tears, a dull, empty ache in her chest. “I killed him and now I'm alone. I deserve to be alone.”

“You're not alone, da’len. We're here.” Merrill lay next to her, stroking her hair.

"Why didn't I stop him? I should have known. I helped him. I _helped_ him. Maker forgive me."

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan." Merrill's face was close to hers, her green eyes sorrowful. Hawke raised trembling fingers to her lips and they parted slightly under her touch.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

She saw them exchange glances. Merrill kissed her, gently, and she felt Fenris's hand on her shoulder before his lips touched her neck. She closed her eyes and let their gentle hands brush over her, her cloak unfastened and spread on the ground. Clothing fell away, a mouth closed over her bared nipple, she didn't know whose, didn't care. Another mouth at her cunt, then lips on hers capturing her soft gasps, their fingers entwined on her breast. She gave herself over to them, and they helped her forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas, ma vhenan = I'm sorry, my heart


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when this became porn but here it is

_An ocean of noise_

_I first heard your voice_

_Now who here among us_

_Still believes in choice?_

_Not I._

 

 _-_ Arcade Fire, _Ocean of Noise_

 

* * *

 

The first thing she noticed when she awoke was the absence of the familiar chill, the aching cold that usually woke her before dawn. But now grey daylight seeped into the cavern, and she was wrapped in a blanket in a tangle of limbs. A small body nestled against her, dark head buried between her neck and shoulder. And behind that a shock of pale hair, a branded arm slung over both of them.

She lay still and silent. Perhaps if she didn't move, she could hold onto this warmth. They could stay asleep and there would be no need to face the repercussions of their act, the inevitable shame and resentment that would come with waking. She listened to their soft, even breathing. Too soon she felt Merrill stir, sleepy green eyes raised to hers.

“Hawke.” Her big eyes flickered over her face. “Do you have regrets?”

“Only if you do.”

“No.” Merrill smiled. “It was wonderful.”

Wonderful. She tasted the word, tested its truth. It had been a release, a reprieve. But if Merrill had thought it wonderful, then wonderful it was. There was a stirring at the elf’s back, a second pair of green eyes open and watching her. Fenris wrapped an arm around Merrill’s body, his hand resting on one small breast. Possessive. Merrill reached back to twine an arm around Fenris's neck, her dark head falling back on his chest. Their simple intimacy excluded her.

“I should…” Hawke shifted, moved to extract herself. The arm still draped over her tensed, fingers pressing into her back.

“Stay.” He was unsmiling but insistent, eyes bright in the semi-darkness.

She tried to analyse her emotions - relief? Fear? Forgotten as Merrill moved against her, soft lips pressed to her neck, legs sliding warm against hers. Hawke brought a hand up to cover Fenris’s, digging his fingers into Merrill’s flesh. His mouth on hers was smoother than Anders, rougher than Merrill. She laid her hand over Merrill’s other breast, stroking her round pink nipple, and she felt small fingers slipping between their bodies, exploring the damp warmth between her thighs.

It was too much sensation, too many things happening at once. She broke free of Fenris’s kiss, gasping. He bent to trace his lips over Merrill’s bare shoulder, then pulled the elf’s knee up and entered her from behind, her leg wrapping around Hawke as she angled her hips to take him. Her fingers fluttered against Hawke and her mouth sought the other woman’s breast, her cries escaping around a wet nipple, the soft scrape of teeth and tongue drawing it to a throbbing peak as Fenris thrust them together.

When his hand tangled in Hawke's hair she let his mouth claim hers again. Her hand slid down between herself and where they fucked against her, cupping his balls before dampening her fingers in the wet joining of their flesh, drawing it up to Merrill's bud and rolling it between her fingers. Their movement pushed the back of her own hand against her clit, drawing a moan from her lips that made Fenris smile darkly and thrust harder, eliciting cries from both his partners. 

She circled and pulsed her wet fingertips against the elven woman and Fenris rocked his glistening length in and out of her, until they felt her shudder between them, her high wail muffled against Hawke’s breast, fingers buried in Fenris's hair at her shoulder. 

Not sated, Fenris slipped his cock free and pulled Hawke to him between Merrill’s legs, rubbing the swollen head between her folds. She whimpered and tried to move her hips into him, to take more of his length. The angle made it impossible until Merrill’s hand wrapped around his shaft and held him steady, keeping him from slipping out of her, the quick shallow thrusts building an aching need in her for more, more. Merrill draped her free arm around Hawke's neck, their breasts pressing and sliding together, swallowing her moans of frustration with her eager mouth.

Finally Fenris growled, pulling back. Merrill clambered free and wrapped herself around Hawke’s back, anchoring her as Fenris slammed into her aching cunt. His hands dug into her hips as he pounded her and Merrill’s caressed her breasts, lips sliding over her neck. Brutally hard, achingly soft. She came with a sound between a sob and a scream and Fenris followed silently, spilling his seed deep inside her.

Spent, he encircled them in his arms and Merrill murmured soft elven words of love.

It was terrible and wonderful.

 

Again a shift, a new normal. There were no boundaries that could be left between them. Their threadbare existence still took its toll, but their bond sustained them even as game grew scarce, Merrill grew thinner, her bones easily traced beneath their fingers.

She became nervous, fretful, startled by every falling leaf. Looks of concern passed between Hawke and Fenris. They sacrificed their rations for her but she seemed to lose her appetite, eating listlessly, her face growing more gaunt by the day. There was an unnatural brightness to her eyes and a fevered intensity in her embraces.

Anders was silent and sorrowful. Hawke tried to remember that he was gone, to stop thinking of each breathless encounter as another knife in his back, even as his brown eyes followed her sadly. Sometimes she imagined it was his cock inside her, his face buried between her legs, his tongue in her mouth. It made nothing easier.

They waited for Varric to return with hope and dread.


	8. Chapter 8

_You've got your reasons_

_and me I've got mine_

_But all the reasons I gave_

_were just lies to buy myself some time_

 

 _-_ Arcade Fire, _Ocean of Noise_

 

* * *

 

The bread was a few days old, tough, but still the best thing Hawke had ever tasted. And wine, Maker how she'd missed wine.

“You all look like shit, by the way.” Varric sat with his hands resting on his knees, watching them fall on his supplies like a pack of wolves at a kill. “Especially you, Daisy.”

Merrill nibbled on some cheese, her appetite seeming to have returned now she had something to eat other than stewed rabbit. “I'm fine, Varric.”

“No you're not,” Hawke and Fenris said in unison. Varric’s eyes flickered between them, and back to Merrill.

“What's the situation in Kirkwall?” Hawke tore another tough mouthful of bread, her jaw already aching from chewing.

“Things are cooling down. Aveline’s back in charge of the guard. Less Templars hanging around for now, and Cullen seems to have removed some of that stick from his ass.”

“You spoke to him?”

“I did, and he didn't have me arrested, which is a good sign.” Varric frowned. “But he did strongly advise against you returning to Kirkwall, for now.”

“Just me?”

“Just you.” He looked at her with sympathy.

Merrill was suddenly alert, looking between Varric and Hawke with hope. Varric frowned at her thin wrists, her hollow cheeks. “You should go home.”

She twisted her hands in her lap. “This is my home.”

“No, Daisy, this is a wet cave halfway up a mountain. Even the Dalish have to draw a line somewhere.”

“He's right,” Hawke said. “You should all go.”

Merrill was indignant. “We're not leaving you alone!”

“I'll be fine. I'll head east to Ostwick. Or Wycome. It's what I should have done to begin with, instead of dragging you all out here with me.” She took Merrill's hand, bony and trembling like a small bird. “You can do some good in Kirkwall. In the alienage. The elves are always hit hardest after something like this.”

Merrill opened her mouth to protest before Fenris cut her off.

“I'll stay with Hawke.” A look passed between the two elves and finally she nodded, her green eyes suspiciously bright.

“You will not.” Hawke glared at him. “Merrill needs you.” She saw Varric’s subtle shift in position. If this ended up in a book she'd strangle him.

“Merrill has Varric. You have no-one.”

“That's - “ _How it should be_. “Ridiculous,” she snapped. “I can look after myself. I won't let you stay.”

“How do you propose to stop me?”

She was aware of Varric’s too-inquisitive eyes on her. They had her trapped. At least Merrill would get to safety, while she could still make the journey. She made a noise of disgust.

“Varric,” she said. “Did you bring any more wine?”

 

They awoke in their separate bedrolls, readied themselves for the journey. Merrill and Fenris exchanged whispers, small touches that caused Varric to look at her with eyebrows raised. She shrugged.

The dwarf attempted conversation as they descended the mountain, soon falling as silent as the rest of them. Merrill walked beside Fenris and after a while their fingers were linked. Varric wisely made no comment.

They made camp, rain driving them into the single tent, the drum of water drowned out by Varric’s snores. Hawke woke to clear skies, the elves entwined in sleep beside her.

By unspoken agreement they allowed Fenris and Merrill privacy for their goodbyes, busying themselves with breaking camp as the lovers - there was no point now in pretending they were anything but - spoke in low murmurs. Then Merrill came to Hawke, her wide gaze traveling over her features, a small hand brushing the hair out of her eyes.

“I'll see you again soon, Merrill.”

“Promise me, Hawke.” Her lips were pressed together in determination.

“I promise.” Hawke bent and kissed her gently on the lips.

“See you later, Hawke.” Varric hoisted his crossbow. “Take care of Broody for us.”

They watched them depart, the slender elf and the squat dwarf.

“It's not too late to go with her,” Hawke said.

Fenris was silent.

 

Back at the cave they came together silently, lips finding each other in the darkness, before Fenris bent to light the fire.

“I could do that faster,” she said.

“I'd prefer you didn't.”

“Still so suspicious of magic.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and watched his small frown of concentration as tiny flames grew amongst the kindling.

Without Merrill there was a desperation in their embrace, teeth sinking into shoulders, fingers clutching skin as if to keep themselves from drowning. They wrestled, not sure if they were fucking or fighting, and when they were spent they clung together, breathless, speechless, sleepless.

 

They talked little, hours going by without conversation. Days where they only spoke of hunting, cooking, pass that knife, have you seen my other boot.

“Well, this is romantic,” said Anders.

At night they coupled frantically, roughly, primal and loud. It was a deliberate departure from the tenderness they had shared with Merrill, an attempt to banish her memory. They didn't speak of her, didn't wonder aloud if she had made it safely to Kirkwall, if she was happy there, recovering. Fenris sometimes stared to the west, uncomfortable when he caught her watching.

“Go home, Fenris,” she would tell him. “I'll be fine.” He didn't answer.

Finally the night came when he kissed her with unbearable tenderness, buried inside her, fists clutched in her hair, whispering, “Merrill.”

Somewhere In the dark, Anders laughed.

“Go,” she spat the next day. “I told you, I don't need you.” She wasn't what he needed, wasn't what anyone needed.

Fenris looked at her, unreadable.

“Go back to Merrill. Be with someone who wants you.” She cast about for words to wound him, to drive him away. “I chose, remember? I didn't choose you. I chose him.”

There it was, pain in his eyes.

“I'd rather be alone.”

It took him little time to pack. The rain was coming down steadily, soaking their hair and clothes. “Stay until the rain stops,” she begged, suddenly contrite. “You don't need to leave right now.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead, turned in silence and walked away, his bare feet soft on the wet forest floor. She wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed, warm tears mingling with the cold rain.

“Just you and me now then, love?”

Hawke closed her eyes and felt Anders’ breath cool on her skin.

“It always was,” she whispered.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue, by request for Nightheart

_Dear F_

 

Hawke stared at the paper. It had seemed like a solid start. Now she wasn’t sure where to go. Fenris and Merrill? Merrill and Fenris?

 

_Dear Friends,_

_I’m in Skyhold. I think it’s safe to tell you that because just about everyone who was looking for me is here too. Varric says hello._

 

That was creative license. Varric would surely say hello, if prompted to do so.

 

_Cullen is_

 

In lyrium withdrawal? Wearing a furry mantle?

 

_Cullen is different._

 

She hated writing letters.

 

_The Inquisitor is_

 

Something the world didn’t already know. A Trevelyan from Ostwick. Young, is what sprang to mind. Almost as young as Bethany and Carver when they fled Lothering.

 

_The Inquisitor is nice._

 

_I am_

 

She looked out over the courtyard. At peace? Almost. As much as one could be with an archdemon threatening the world. Again. At the same time, still filled with the same aching emptiness that had followed her for the past years. Dear friends, I am at peace and also filled with an aching emptiness. That would set minds at ease.

 

 ~~_I am_ ~~ _I miss_

 

Everyone. The living, Aveline and you two and even Isabela at times, the traitorous bitch. And the ghosts - Bethany, Carver, Mother. Anders.

“You miss me? That’s nice to hear.”

“Fuck off Anders,” she muttered, and a passing guard glanced at her in alarm. She growled in frustration and folded the letter in four. She needed to find Varric.

 

* * *

 

 _You couldn’t even save your city._ She couldn’t argue. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but the biggest threat had been right under her nose - well, under her mouth or her thighs more often than not, sometimes over, but all that was semantics. The point was, she should have seen it coming. Kirkwall had burned before and would likely burn again, but the rubble from that explosion was still falling all over Thedas, and who knew what the world would look like when it finally settled?

“I should stay.” What was she but a Champion without a city, a mage with a talent for trouble? Time to be a champion worthy of the title.

“No, I should stay.”

They’d been bickering like brother and sister - a bit like herself and Carver, in fact - for the past hour, but that was the final straw in what had been a shitty and brutal day.

“Fuck, Alistair! I said I’ll stay. Go back and help the Wardens, if any are left worthy of the name.” The warden and the Inquisitor both stared, speechless. “Go and wait for your elf to come back. Because you know if she does and you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed, she’ll hunt me down and stab me to death, and burn down Skyhold and let’s face it, probably set fire to Thedas.”

“She - “ Alistair paused. “That sounds pretty accurate, actually.”

“Then get out of here. This is my giant...fade spider...thing.”

 

* * *

 

Just after dawn Fenris padded downstairs in bare feet. The fires were already banked up against the winter cold, and Orana had left the mail in a neat pile by the door. Merrill was right, as usual - the girl was useful, and she needed somewhere to go now that Hawke’s house stood empty. His own house was more of a home these days than the old Amell mansion, repaired and cleaned up and with small touches that made it look more lived in - a Dalish tapestry here, a shelf of books there, Hawke’s slumbering Mabari by the fireplace.

He flicked through the pile of letters as he walked back upstairs. Mostly accounts to settle - the work of repairing the mansion was ongoing, but he was grateful on days such as today not to have cracks in the roof.

He found the letter from Varric as he entered the bedroom, but before opening it he looked up and faltered, the pile of correspondence all but forgotten.

He’d been away for weeks this time, chasing reports of slaver activity on the coast. A long time to go without this sight. Outside grey rain battered against the window, but in their room the fire roared and the blankets had slipped down around Merrill’s waist. She slept still, head fallen to the side, mouth hanging open a little. She would deny it but she snored sometimes, softly almost like a cat’s purr.

Merrill. She softened his sharp edges, and he kept her anchored, kept her trusting nature intact while ensuring the city didn’t swallow her up. Hawke’s old job, really. And together they joined his scattered memories back together like the shards of Merrill’s old mirror, sometimes getting cut by the jagged pieces, and sometimes seeing something bright and precious in the reflection. And sometimes she was naive, and he was pigheaded, and always they came out the other side stronger.

He slipped back under the covers and nestled into her warmth, feeling her move sleepily against him. “Fenris?” she murmured, and in answer he kissed her neck, traced a path down to her belly and under the blankets.

Some time later when the bedclothes surrounded them in a tangle, she spied the letter. “Is that from Varric?”

“It came this morning. I haven’t read it yet.”

She reached across him and retrieved the envelope from the side table, breaking the seal and scanning the contents eagerly.

“Oh.” The paper fell from her hands.

 

There was grief, of course. The kind of grief that steals air from the lungs, and wrenches sounds previously unknown from the throat. Grief that aches, and burns and freezes. Grief that turns over every phrase, both said and unsaid, in your mind and brandishes them at you like a weapon. Grief that leaves you standing barefoot in the winter rain of Kirkwall hoping the freezing water will scour the feeling from your soul. Grief that tears you apart and brings you back together, lost in shared memories.

 

It wasn’t until much later they found the second piece of paper, folded in four and missed in the envelope. It started in Hawke’s hand, so bold as to be almost aggressive, lines begun and crossed out in annoyance.

Then Varric’s hand took over, small and neat and looping.

 

_Daisy and Broody,_

_I’m writing to you from the Herald’s Rest, which is what the Hanged Man would be like if they cleaned the floors more often than never and if half the patrons (and let’s face it, the drinks) didn’t try to kill you. In short, it’s nothing like the Hanged Man._

_Hawke has the sort of writer’s block that only comes from being genuinely terrible at writing to begin with, so she’s asked me to write this letter instead. In return, she’s buying all my drinks - she just learned that, by the way._

_I’m supposed to say hello, from myself, so hello. Also to tell you I’m still flaunting my chest hair, and I still have an unhealthy attachment to my crossbow. Did I mention she’s buying the drinks?_

_Curly is here - sorry, Cullen - and in the absence of any circles he’s doing a much better job of not rounding people up. Not that his mage-hunting work in Kirkwall was anything special, what with outsourcing all his problems to a gang of criminals and apostates. Hawke’s getting along better with him and she’s curious to see what he looks like under all that - Maker’s breath, Hawke! Now you’re just messing with me._

_Hawke wants me to tell you the Qunari here is nothing like the Arishok - she says he’s more like me, but I think he’s more like Isabela - smart mouth, impressive chest, insatiable sexual appetite, the person you’d want on your side in a bar fight. But taller, with horns, and...well, the comparison starts to fall apart pretty quick if you analyse it too much._

_The Inquisitor is a good kid, reminds me a bit of Carver without the attitude. He’s no Hawke - this would be a whole different organisation with her at the head, for better or worse - but he does good work. Hawke says to tell you he has a boyfriend who Fenris should never, ever meet. She also says they seem very much in love, and just between you and me I think she’s getting pretty drunk. She’d like you to know that she’s not, but she definitely is._

_She misses everybody, especially you two because - OK firstly that is way too much information, and secondly I_ knew _it! And that once we take down Corypheus - AGAIN - she’ll do her best to swing by Kirkwall, assuming they’ve taken all those wanted posters down. Until then, she hopes you’re being good to each other, and the dog, and staying out of trouble. She’d also like you to head over to Meredith in the Gallows and take a - no, I’m not writing that. And now I’m being fired from my job as scribe, so I’ll hand the reins back to Hawke._

_Take care,_

_Varric_

 

Below that four words in large, uneven letters:

 

_Love you both_

_Hawke_

 

* * *

 

 

Hawke stood alone as the others escaped the Fade, hands white knuckled on her staff. She’d save them, they’d save the world. It was a good plan. She was good at good plans.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, love?”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll see you soon, Anders.”


End file.
